Thanksgiving in a Zen monastery...

It's been four years since my last Thanksgiving at Tassajara, the Zen Buddhist monastery sequestered in the Ventana Wilderness in Carmel Valley, the last time I had nut loaf instead of turkey for our national holiday.  In all, I spent four Thanksgiving days at Tassajara - 2004, 2005, 2006, and 2013 - and each one was very different from the others.

Photo by Hamish John Appleby

The fall of 2004 was what was called my tangaryo practice period. Simply put, it was my first practice period, and I stayed in Tassajara from late September 2004 through early April 2005 without ever leaving. My teacher suggested it; it was common practice in Tassajara's early days, but I was the only person during that time period who never left. Thanksgiving wasn't quite the halfway point, but it was a much-needed break in the schedule.

Part of the 14-mile dirt road into Tassajara, photo by Shundo Haye

The wake-up bell rings at 3:50 am, and by 4:20 am you are in your seat in the zendo. Breakfast occurs at your seat in the zendo somewhere around 6:30 am, and you keep going till about 9:30 pm. You follow the schedule for four days, then get a personal day (you wake up one hour later, and are free after breakfast until late afternoon). By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, the concept of a holiday seems foreign, and in truth, everyone pitches in to help make the feast happen.

That first Thanksgiving I started a tradition that I continued every Thanksgiving I spent at Tassajara - I left dinner early and went down to the bathhouse to enjoy the hot plunge, usually in complete solitude for at least part of the time. The indoor plunge has sliding glass doors, so you can be inside and out at the same time, and it overlooks the creek and is overlooked by the mountains.

To get to Tassajara you have to drive or be driven up and down a 14-mile dirt road, a trip which takes approximately an hour and 15 minutes, unless your driver is driving too fast. The road starts at 1500 feet above sea level, goes up for about 8 miles to the ridge, 5000 feet above sea level. You go along the ridge for about 3 miles, then begin the descent - 3500 feet down to the valley (1500 feet above sea level), the drop occurs in approximately 4 miles, which makes it pretty steep in places. No guardrail, one lane in a lot of spots, and innumerable switchbacks and hairpin turns. You really have to want to be there.

Men's bathhouse and outdoor plunge, photo by Shundo Haye

Thanksgiving 2005 I was on the kitchen crew, and in the middle of a drama about when, where, and whether I was going to be ordained as a Zen Buddhist priest (I was, in January 2006). I was what they call the fukuten in the kitchen. The fukuten is what you might call the kitchen manager. I supervised the crew, made sure the food got out on time, and occasionally did some cooking myself. I had been on the crew in the spring practice period, and during the summer guest season I'd been a guest cook, so I knew the kitchen well. I had turned 50 in October, in some ways was as happy as I'd ever been. However, the drama around ordination and the drama in the kitchen made it a stressful time. This was easily one of my most difficult practice periods, and that was one Thanksgiving that I barely ate before bolting to the bathhouse.

Tassajara Creek, photo by Valerie Boquet

In 2006, I was back in the kitchen as fukuten. I'd been asked to take it on again, and I agreed, because the tenzo, or head cook, was one of my closest friends. We had great fun, and it had its difficult moments as well. One of those difficult moments occurred on Thanksgiving.

Being fukuten puts you in the middle between the tenzo and the crew, and sometimes the tenzo will undercut your authority by stepping in and being the buddy. With some it can be intentional, with my friend I knew that wasn't the case, but it hurt just the same. I was still struggling with how to be a priest, how to do my job, and how to create boundaries and stand up for myself. Once again, the bathhouse was a source of enormous comfort and solace.

It was to be seven years before my next Thanksgiving at Tassajara. In the interim, I'd left San Francisco Zen Center to get a Master of Divinity degree at Naropa University, and spent a few years with my dad while my mother was dying of Alzheimer's. I returned to City Center (the San Francisco practice center connected with Tassajara) as tenzo, and went to Tassajara in May of 2013. I was still there for Thanksgiving, not in the kitchen, and actually sat down and ate the whole Thanksgiving dinner. I did, however, still make it to the bathhouse for my traditional Thanksgiving pilgrimage.

Outside of the bathhouse, one of my favorite things about the schedule was study time. I loved work period, when the schedule was easier and folks came in for a month to help build and maintain the property.

I cooked in the kitchen when it was 105 degrees Farenheit, and froze in the zendo when it went down to 18 F. I danced with the abbot in the zendo to the music of Zen monks humming Cole Porter's Let's Face the Music and Dance. I wept in despair when I realized becoming a priest didn't mean I got to become someone else.

"Main Street" in Tassajara - the dirt path that winds through the property, wide enough for a truck (barely)

Early morning moon on the drive out of Tassajara

I can't say I miss it. I do miss the deep connections that can develop with friends and teachers. And oh, I miss the hot plunge with the mist rising off the hot water, the chill of the air on my shoulders, and the unfathomable beauty of the mountains looming over me.

The hours of zazen I sat are a part of my body and will never leave me, any more than the symphony of the wildlife parked on the road on a summer night will ever really disappear.

The Thanksgivings I spent at Tassajara showed me things about myself I would never have learned otherwise. With deep gratitude to those who have lived, worked, and loved at Tassajara throughout the years...

Doc